Nov 11: La Bibliothèque de la Magie
by pandolfi
Summary: Harry's desperate to find information about breaking curses on Horcruxes. Hermione wants to help. Where else to go but France at 2am? Part of the Tomorrow universe. HBP spoilers.


_Disclaimer: the Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling, despite the fact that Book 6 was less than perfect._

Part of the 'Tomorrow' seventh year universe: Harry returns to Hogwarts as Dumbledore asks in his will for extra training. As Death Eaters start killing more and more Muggles and wizards, Ginny and Harry get back together and Ron and Hermione go out, but both relationships are strained underneath by personal tensions. As Harry fights with Ron over their shared friendship with Hermione, she attempts to stay neutral.

* * *

**La Bibliothèque de la Magie**

_**November 11**_

****

He was getting so close.

It was obvious to Harry that the Hogwarts library contained almost nothing of use if you needed to destroy horcruxes so that a Dark Lord would e vulnerable. Despite the fact that Hermione swore by it, the huge Defense section that occupied at least twelve large shelves had only one book on curse breaking, and that book had taken the meaning of 'vagueness' to a new level. He was on the verge of asking Bill for more information; after all, the eldest Weasley was working at Hogwarts as the younger Defense teacher that year and his office door was, as he often said, 'always open'. It would have worked well and he had planned to do it yesterday after discussing it with Hermione and Ron. Of course, Hermione had brought up the fact that somehow, from Bill, Mrs. Weasley would find out and then the news would quickly spread from the not-exactly-closed mouth matriarch through the Order Hierarchy. Which, Hermione pointed out, would mean that Professor McGonagall would learn of it and suspect that he was _really_ up to something. Security around Harry would be tightened. Like, say, chaining him to his bed until he had given up the idea of leaving Hogwarts to search for horcruxes.

Which, as Hermione and Ron had agreed, wouldn't do at all, not at all.

Harry had then turned to the Restricted Section, where he was sure something would jump out at him and solve all his problems. He barely had to ask Slughorn—what a joke—for a pass ("Potions extra study? Excellent idea, my boy!") So now Harry, under the constant disapproving gaze of Madam Pince (did she really need to dust the table next to him every five minutes?) had free rein of the books normally kept under lock and key. Thus, most nights, after a long day of intensive studying, Harry could be found pouring over thick tomes named "Arithmancie and the Breaking of Curses Ancient" and "Speles fore the Innosent Who Wish to Be Bloodey".

After learning an extremely helpful search spell from Professor Flitwick the past week Harry had made what he considered to be excellent progress: two more books had found their way into his small 'keep' pile. Upon reading them in his dormitory at the hellish time of one in the morning Harry had gleaned three things. One: a number of extremely powerful spells that could render many curses harmless in less than two hours were relatively easy to learn, with simple incantations and wand movements. Two: that the aforementioned spells drained a person's magical power in less than one hour, making it horribly inconvenient to finish the spell. Three: that they were therefore theoretically impossible for most wizards and witches to master.

When he had learned the last two bits Harry had sworn loudly and slammed the book shut, prompting Madam Pince to boot him out of the library. As he gathered his three books and stuffed them into his book bag to show to Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, in his peripheral vision he thought he saw a small smirk pass across the librarian's face.

Walking down the long stone corridors and changing staircases to the Gryffindor Common Room Harry reflected that he had vaguely heard Hermione warn him about the excessive amounts of power required to use the curse-breaking spells, but he had shrugged the warning off. As he stumbled over his untied shoelace and caught his balance again, he made a mental note to always, always take Hermione's advice to heart. Two minutes later when Harry actually did fall due to his shoelace, he surveyed his reddened hands and made another mental note to make sure his shoes were tied—after all, he wouldn't want to be fighting Voldemort and fall flat on his face.

As he was mulling over the ramifications of such an act (probably, he thought, drawn out torture and death after being captured) his vision, which had previously been focused on the ground, was suddenly obscured by a swath of purple fabric which was taken away suddenly. Startled, Harry looked up and into the beaming face of Professor Slughorn.

"Ah, Harry! Since I seem to have found you, albeit perhaps not in the way I had hoped... ah, what is this?"

Slughorn's pink hand, which Harry noticed was curiously uncalloused though he brewed potions for hours each day, gestured at his book bag and the three books, their ancient spines visible. "Potions book, I hope. We wouldn't want you checking out other…" Slughorn coughed and Harry took it to be an obvious sign of approval, "books, now would we?"

Harry nodded his assent, privately rolling his eyes at the teacher's antics.

"Good. Remember—we're brewing the _Itorufium_ tomorrow." Slughorn's visage broke out into a grin. "See if you can pair yourself with Mr. Weasley, can you? No burning potion on the wall this time, I hope."

He clapped Harry heavily on the shoulder and seemed a bit put off when Harry lightly shrugged him away. "Goodnight, Professor."

"Yes, goodnight indeed."

Slughorn walked off, his feet clomping on the floor. Before he was out of sight Harry had started half-running to the Common Room, having realized that it was already fifteen minutes after curfew. Luckily, however, the castle seemed to agree with him that it was better for him to get to the Common Room than to get detention, for he speedily made his way back to the Fat Lady in record time. As he slouched against the wall for a second and leaned his forehead against the cool stones, panting, Harry could feel the Fat Lady's disapproving gaze on his back.

"And why, young man, are you out after curfew?"

Harry groaned softly. He did not need a portrait, of all things, interrogating him.

"The Headmistress said I can be out until midnight every night."

"Well!" The portrait seemed put out by finding out that she had missed a piece of gossip. "That's the first I've heard of it. Password?"

He picked up his bag from where he had left it on the floor and slung it over his shoulder. "Gunsmoke."

The Fat Lady swung open and then shut as Harry walked into the room. For a Friday night at eleven-thirty the Common Room was strangely empty; its only inhabitant was Hermione, curled up on an overstuffed couch in front of a dying fire, reading a thick book that Harry was sure wasn't for any class. She looked up and brushed her hair out of her eyes as he approached and sat himself down next to her.

"Got some books." Harry pulled the books out in order and dumped them in Hermione's lap, receiving an outraged laugh from her that was quickly stifled when she saw the title of the top book.

"'Speles fore the Innosent Who Wish to Be Bloodey'? Sounds like a Restricted Section. Did you ask Slughorn like you planned?" Her posture, indicating that she was waiting for a response, was belied by the fact that she had quickly opened the book and had already read the first page, eyes flicking madly over the table of contents.

"Yeah, I ran into him in the hallway too. He asked me to work with Ron again. I don't know how—" Harry sighed slightly and took "Curse Breaking for Those Cursed" from Hermione, opened it, and paged through it at random, eyes on the page but not quite registering the information. "Slughorn's smart, cunning, _something_. He has to be to have gotten so much influence over people. He must know that I'm not exactly… amiable to Ron at the moment. Does he think he can make it better?"

Hermione took the remaining two books off her lap and placed them gently on a nearby table. Once returned to her seat, she gave Harry a searching look reminiscent of Professor McGonagall.

"D'you think Slughorn's putting you with Ron to patch up your friendship just to be a saint? Remember the Slug Club?"

It was obviously a rhetorical question and so Hermione plunged right on.

"He always does things for his own personal advancement. If he thinks that you getting back with Ron will make you more likely to defeat Voldemort, or something like that…"

"He's delusional," stated Harry flatly. "Ron's stubbornness isn't making it harder for me. Probably easier." He let out a low but harsh laugh. "He's not pulling me away to do Quidditch or Exploding Snap every three minutes. Leaves me more time to study."

Hermione laid a hand on Harry's arm. Feeling the touch, Harry jerked his arm away.

"Let's get back to the books."

Hermione looked worriedly at him, apparently assessing if he needed counseling about his friendship problems, and then drew back, her gaze closing. "Fine. Tell me."

Harry started talking, trying to ignore the subtle tension between them. "That first book, the Innocent one, has some rudiments on breaking curses that were put on yourself. The Arithmancy book has a bunch of complicated equations in it. It wouldn't help unless you were right there to do all the work."

Hermione snorted and reached for the book, opening it at random. "But it's perfect! Look…" She leaned over to show him the book. "There's an equation right there to get rid of that bone breaking curse that you looked at a few weeks ago with Flitwick."

A strand of brown hair flew into Harry's field of vision and he brushed it away after it tickled his forehead, producing a tingle in his scar.

"Oh!"

Harry leaned over to look at Hermione's gesturing finger.

"One to get rid of the _Tyrannus Utulieni_!" She read on and her face fell. "Oh. It takes three years to complete."

"Not to mention I don't know a scrap of Arithmancy." Harry pulled back and relaxed on the couch, basking in the pleasant warmth of the fire. He closed his eyelids tightly and spots danced in the inky blackness. "Hermione. The book won't help me at all. Neither will the other ones. I've read everything and there's no way I'm strong enough to complete the spell before my core gets drained." He paused, opened his eyes, and looked at Hermione melodramatically. "I'm doomed!"

She broke into soft giggles as she closed the book and placed it on top of the others. They sat there in comfortable silence for a few minutes on the couch, both sprawled at opposite ends. Harry was drifting off into dream when Hermione's excited voice broke in.

"I know what you can do."

Oh, great. Harry pulled himself out of his half-sleep and forced himself to listen. It was probably going to be something about asking Bill or McGonagall, not that they hadn't gone over that before. Or looking in the Black and Potter family vaults, or…

"You can go to France!"

Harry's head turned sharply as he stared at Hermione, all vestiges of sleep gone.

"France?"

Harry sat up straight as Hermione's face lit up. "They have the most extensive magical library at the Sorbonne there. La Bibliothèque de la Magie! I remember reading that they have more than a million books. France knows about you, you'll be able to look at all of them without trouble…"

Harry lifted an eyebrow at the newest privilege of his vaunted 'Boy-Who-Lived' status and simultaneously asked the most obvious question.

"Um, Hermione? When am I supposed to go? During my hour-long duel with Flitwick tomorrow? Or my Occlumency Theory with McGonagall?"

Hermione waved his concern off and picked up an abandoned piece of parchment and a quill to write on. "Just take a class off. They'll understand, this is more important than some Occlumency Theory that you can't even practice. Just tell McGonagall tonight and you'll be on your way in the morning." She scribbled something on the parchment.

Harry saw through the hole in that attempt in a moment, not even pausing to wonder at Hermione's proposal to flaunt school rules and his safety. "And so if I tell McGonagall there's a half chance I won't be allowed to go because it'll be too dangerous and there's a half chance she'll go with me and then know that I'm planning to leave to look for the horcruxes. It wouldn't work, Hermione."

She leveled her gaze at Harry. "Of course it would. You can even go now; they're open all the time for emergencies. And this classifies as one, kind of at least. It won't take you but two hours. You'll be in your bed by two thirty at the latest." She wrote one last thing on the piece of parchment, took a quick look at it, and handed it to Harry.

"Here's the address. Just apparate to some International Floo Terminal and take one there."

He looked at her dubiously. "Hermione, someone'll…"

"Fine. I'll go with you."

Harry stood up at that. "Why're you going to break so many school rules all of a sudden? Just to help me find a few solutions to curses that I probably won't even find?"

Hermione stood up to face him and smoothed out her skirt. "It's more important than the rules, Harry." She took a step closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's about your life."

She raised her voice slightly; it had gotten low when she had whispered. "I'm going to the IFT in London. Coming?" She walked over to her bag, where she pulled out the Invisibility Cloak. At Harry's wondering look, she explained, "Got it from you earlier. Remember, I borrowed it."

Through his haze of confusion Harry dredged up the memory of Hermione asking—in such a nice voice, he thought—to borrow his cloak. Groaning, he turned to face her. "Hermione. Let's just…"

She gestured for him to come. "Hurry!"

Harry walked over slowly, feeling the small unevenness in the stone floor beneath the thin soles of his shoes. When he was close enough Hermione threw the cloak over them both and proceeded to shuffle towards the portrait hole, forcing Harry to follow her or get entangled in the silvery fabric.

Hermione pushed the Fat Lady open and they both stepped out over the stoop in tandem and set off down the hallway. Harry was sure that someone would hear them, a teacher on night patrol or a prefect. His breath mixed with Hermione's in the stale air under the cloak and he longed to lift it up a bit to let in some fresh air… but Hermione's hair was in his face as she stopped suddenly, and Harry almost knocked her over.

"Stairs!"

Harry smelled something of strawberries as he proceeded down what seemed to be endless flights of stairs with Hermione in front. A small scare on a landing when a ghost flew past was quietly ignored by both under the cloak as they concentrated on making it to the front doors. They loomed up suddenly in front of him. Seen through the gauzy fabric of the cloak they seemed to be dancing with small silver lights.

Hermione again reached out a hand to push them open, and Harry hoped against all hopes that they wouldn't squeak. When he stepped forwards into the cool autumn night air he tried to relax a bit, as his back had somehow gotten a crick with all the maneuverings on the stairs. He was tugged along, however, by Hermione's hand, until they both reached an oak tree just off the trail to Hagrid's cabin.

Hermione turned to him, her face inches away. Brown hair fell between them as Harry lifted an eyebrow in confusion. What use was a tree in apparition? They had to get off the grounds first, and that would take another good twenty minutes of fumbling steps beneath the cloak.

"Teacher Apparition Point." Hermione's whisper was warm against Harry's cold cheek as he looked at her in confusion. "I told you yesterday. We can apparate out from here, Dumbledore set it up before he died. I heard Bill talking about it to Moody when I was handing in the addendum to my essay."

Hermione sighed and wrapped an arm around Harry. "Concentrate on the London IFT. Remember what it looks like?"

Harry nodded, rolling his eyes in the darkness. Sometimes Hermione was just too much like a teacher.

"Do it on the count of three."

Harry laughed out loud at that and Hermione quickly raised a hand under the cloak to stifle the sound. "Quiet!"

There was the sound of footsteps in the distance and a voice called out something indistinctly.

"We have to do it now. One. Two. Three…"

Harry obediently concentrated as Hermione had said, thinking of the high-ceilinged room lit by countless fires. They both popped out of Hogwarts: one loudly, one softly.

An Invisibility Cloak fell to the ground where it lay in a heap. Through the darkness bobbing wandlight could be seen. As it drew nearer to the apparition point it slowly illuminated an older woman walking purposefully. The woman's hand reached down and picked up the cloak. A small gasp emanated from her throat at its feel.

"Harry!"

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After an interminably long squeeze during which Harry felt as if he should puke but couldn't, he popped into existence in the London International Floo Terminal with Hermione's arm still around him and promptly fell on the floor. She laughed quietly as she half-fell also, dragged by Harry.

When they had both gotten up after an embarrassing moment (Harry tried to banish from his mind the image of Hermione's body against his) he looked around sheepishly. There weren't any uniformed guards at the security desk, but that, he thought, was because it was after midnight. Hermione grabbed a small pouch from an inside pocket of her traveling cloak (when had she put that on?) and, upon opening it, gave a pinch of Floo Powder to Harry.

"It's the _Bibliothèque de la Magie_," she said in a whisper. We can go in separate fireplaces and we'll get there at the same time, that'd be easier." When Harry hesitated, looking around the deserted space and then at the large fireplace in trepidation, Hermione gave him a little push in the small of his back. "Go!"

He went. Throwing the powder into the flames and watching them blaze up, he stepped into them and, enjoying the slight tickling feeling, said "Bibliothèque de la Magie," attempting to mimic Hermione's perfect French pronunciation. Another second and he was there, falling out of the ornate marble fireplace.

As Hermione arrived a split second later, miraculously keeping her balance in the fireplace, Harry reflected that he really _had_ to get used to floo traveling. He turned to speak with Hermione after he had taken a moment for his eyes to wander around the columned rotunda and found her gone. He turned his gaze to the sound of footsteps on the marble floor and found her walking to a small information desk nestled between two Doric columns. He looked away from a bronze statue of a beckoning naked nymph to follow her across the large space.

"Excusez-moi, madame, mais pouviez-vous nous aider?"

Harry, who had just come up behind her, silently gaped at her French. He wondered if she had taken it before Hogwarts, but how she had gotten such a good grasp… perhaps she had studied it at Hogwarts? It wouldn't be unlike her, to learn a foreign language just for fun.

"Vous êtes étudiants, n'est-ce pas? Il a minuit. Vous devriez être à l'école ou à votre maison. Avez-vous une bonne raison être ici?"

Hermione turned from the receptionist to Harry. "She wants to know if we have a good reason for being here. I'm just going to say that we urgently need some books on curse breaking. You step up then and show her your scar and we should get right through."

At Harry's dismayed look, she amended her statement, a small smile on her face. "Fine. I'll try to get us through without telling them who we are. Alright?"

She quickly turned back in a whirl of hair to the French lady, who was watching their exchange. "Nous devons regarder des livres du cassait des malédictions maintenant. C'est très important, madame."

The lady gave her a look as if to say that it couldn't be important enough to wait seven hours.

Hermione huffed. "Harry, come here."

Harry felt a hand close on his cloak and was dragged up alongside Hermione, who was looking disgruntled. She lifted up his bangs and pointed to his scar. "Il s'appelle Harry Potter."

The woman looked shocked and started babbling in French. Hermione let her hand down and Harry's hair obscured his scar again. As she and the receptionist talked at lightning speed, he took another look around. It was a huge circular hall surrounded by great columns that supported a roof so far above it was barely visible in the darkness. Magical lights in sconces lit the place, although they were only mounted on the walls and so their light was bogged down in the murkiness that filled the place, dispelled only around the lamps and at the reception desk. A huge mosaic seemed to cover the floor in some places; in others the floor was made of enormous blocks of white marble. It seemed like a mausoleum to Harry and even reminded him of that room in the…

"Come on, Harry. We're going and we need to follow her."

"I got that part without even understanding French."

They walked along side by side down a huge hall, following the doddering old receptionist. Statues on pedestals lined the walls, their faces shrouded in gloom. A small track had been worn through the middle of the hall, but the rest of its floor was covered in a thick layer of dust. Harry wondered if they ever cleaned in 'the most extensive magical library in the world'.

It took, Harry reflected later, about five minutes of winding through progressively smaller and smaller hallways and reading rooms until the woman finally stopped in front of a small stone door set into the wall seamlessly and almost invisibly. She turned to Hermione to start speaking, though she kept glancing over at Harry in a mix, he thought, of amazement and confusion.

"C'est la salle de lecture du cassait des malédictions. Si vous parlez le titre d'un sujet spécialiser, des livres viendront à ta table."

The woman paused for a moment to pull something out of her pocket, and Hermione took the opportunity to relay to Harry what she had just been told. "It's the Curse Breaking Reading Room. We just have to ask for a, um, 'specialized subject' and the books will appear on our table."

Harry raised his eyebrows in amazement: he shouldn't be surprised, after more than six years in the wizarding community, but their ways of doing things were a lot faster than Muggle methods. If only they had this kind of search at the Hogwarts library.

"Voici le Quéntral." The woman, now standing straight and facing Harry, brandished a small black box that she had taken from her pocket and gave it to him. He took it from her hand and held it in his own, marveling at its heaviness. "Si vous avez besoin de me contacter, tenez-le en votre main. Je viendrai tout de suite."

Hermione took the black box and stowed it in her cloak. "Merci beaucoup, madame."

"De rien, mademoiselle et… le garçon-qu'a-vécu!" She turned away, a blush staining her powdered cheeks.

"Merci encore, madame." Hermione, after thanking the receptionist, nudged Harry and said, "Say 'merci'!"

"Um, merci, madame."

The woman gave a happy little half-squeak and rushed away. Harry looked down, a blush on his own cheeks. Hermione laughed from above his head and pulled him into the now-open reading room. Five renaissance wooden tables decorated with what seemed to be gold leaf were in two rows, each with two plush chairs and a small reading light. The corners of the room, however, were dark and, Harry presumed, filled with dust just like the rest of the place.

Hermione had already made her way to a table, where she reverently hung her cloak on the back of the chair and put her small book bag on the table. She murmured something that Harry could not make out but that had to have been the _Tempus_ spell, because misty numbers appeared in the air.

"Hermione, it's already almost one!" Harry started to panic slightly internally. They had to be back soon; what if a teacher checked the beds or something like they were wont to do?

"Calm down." For one in the morning and for someone low on sleep, Hermione seemed to be in excellent control of her facilities. Harry, deflating, slumped into the chair across from her, noting how the pins that secured the fabric to the back stuck out so that you were forced to sit upright.

"We'll have plenty of time. All we have to do is use this—" she held up the black box "and we'll have all the books in no time. We can check them out, or at least you can, because—"

Yes, Harry, thought to himself, as Hermione stopped and shot him a guilty look. Because I'm Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and the One-Who-Must-Defeat-Voldemort and the Almost-Man-Who-Was-About-To-Fall-Asleep.

"So, you use the… Kaintral… by saying what type of topic you want, right? So, um, here." He paused to make sure the little black box got what he was going to say. "Horcruxes and Curse-Breaking."

The box, in Hermione's outstretched hand, didn't move.

"Harry, it has to be in French!"

He felt stupid for a second, and then dismissed his brain failure as a consequence of not getting enough sleep. "Fine. You do it."

"Quéntral, écoute! Apporte-nous les livres avec le sujet 'Horcruxes et le Cassait des Malédictions.'"

Harry gave into the growing temptation to close his drooping eyes. As he leaned back in the chair (not too far, as the pins were more than a little bit uncomfortable) he watched the changing patterns. They were always white, however, whether in a spiral or a series of dots. It was nice, he thought. White was a nice color. Like Hermione's teeth and Ron's threadbare shirt. White was nice…

"Harry!"

He fell back into the chair and then jumped up, feeling the prickle of pins. "What?" he asked, sleepily outraged.

"Look up!" Hermione lifted her eyes to the dark of the high ceiling and stared, apparently in some near-heaven state. Rapturously, that was the word.

Harry looked up through half-lidded eyes. Indistinct shapes whirled through the air, shapes in dusky shades of red and blue and brown, barely visible against the murk. All at once they ceased their flight and fell into a column, shape after shape after shape lined on top of each other up into the void. They fell then, a controlled fall that made Harry lose all thoughts of sleep and jump out of the way. A second later the books landed on the table in a perfect pile, spines lined up.

Gold lettering stood out on the dark covers: "Charmes Algérien et Tunisien du Maghreb", a thin book with Arabic-looking swirls of designs that made Harry's tired head spin. On top of that was a fat but small book with a faded title and fraying cover: "Thee Spels ande Thee Curses of thee Ancientes" seemed to be falling apart. His eyes strayed upwards in the pile to the only book with a bright cover. "Horcruxes and How to Protect Them: the Extensive Study."

He looked over at Hermione, who hadn't even moved. Her eyes were skimming joyfully from title to title, and Harry could picture her stuffing all of them into her book bag to bring back to Hogwarts.

An _Accio_ from Harry to summon the Horcrux book with the bright red cover brought Hermione out of her reverie. "Oh, you got the Horcrux book by Flamel? I've read about it, it's supposed to be really good!"

Harry laid it down on the table and looked below the golden title. Sure enough, emblazoned in black beneath the word 'extensive' was the name Nicholas Flamel.

"I didn't know he did alchemy," exclaimed Harry quietly, as if not to disturb the ritualistic silence that had prevailed during the coming of the books. He rubbed his head then; sometime before a nagging headache had developed that was currently on the verge of distracting him even more from his task.

Hermione slowly massaged her face and spoke from beneath her hands. "I think that a lot of curses are tied into alchemy, if only because of the brute amount of force needed to make and sustain them. Keep them going."

"Didn't know…" Harry rubbed his forehead again, more vigorously this time, "that it took power to really maintain a cursed object.

"Usually from the caster. It's been known to drive a person to death," said Hermione in a hushed but interested voice that somehow echoed around the room, making strange reverberations in the stagnant air. "I think that Giuseppe Foscaroni—"

"Hermione. We need to just find some books and get out," said Harry tiredly. His forehead was throbbing now, but he didn't think it was connected to his scar. The hurting was too widespread and seemed to originate in his temples.

"Alright, then. Let's just take the books in English." She leaned down towards the table where Harry realized she had put the Quéntral. "Apporte-vous des livres dans le tas que sont en Anglais, s'il vous plaît."

Another long minute of waiting in the room, empty except for the sparse furnishings and the pile of books, reaching up, up… Harry looked from thing to thing, column to chair, the scar on the back of his hand from fifth year to Hermione's somewhat tamed hair, attempting to ignore the pain in his head that seemed to be multiplying every minute.

"Harry?" He looked at her face then, noting its contours. "Does your scar hurt?"

Through a haze of both sleep and pain Harry could tell Hermione was worried. He mumbled something to the effect of 'it's ok'. He thought that Hermione gave him a veiled but dubious look as she turned back to see books flying off of the pile (Harry thought that it was a miracle that the pile didn't fall when the bottom book abruptly flew out) and pulled out her book bag to start fitting books in.

"Um, Hermione? How're you going to fit all of them in?"

"Bottomless charm, Harry!" Her reply seemed the slightest bit forced and annoyed, and Harry wondered if she was as tired as he. His eyes followed her repetitive action: Hermione's hand grabbed a book and carefully put it into her bag and then went for another one. Harry, lulled by the constant action and the quiet, attempted to sleep in the uncomfortable chair, his cheek pressed against the upholstery, which he found was quite nice against his skin.

"Got it. We need to go now."

Harry opened his eyes to find the last book disappearing into Hermione's bag. A second later and she was out of her chair and hoisting her bag over her shoulder (featherweight charm, Harry supposed) and started for the door. He forced himself up and began walking also, his gait skewed. The throbbing in his forehead had subsided to a manageable level, but it was almost two in the morning, and he was tired. Extremely tired. So tired…

"Harry!"

Hermione's voice jerked him out of… what? His fifth attempt at sleep?

"Jeez, I'm coming."

Hermione just rolled her eyes in exasperation and went out the door, Harry close on her heels.

"Now, if I remember correctly… down this hall, a right into the Section des Malédictions, a half-left, another right, and down the corridor to the floo."

Harry sincerely hoped she was right, because if he spent another fifteen minutes in this stupid French library he would fall asleep on his feet, in midstep. After a miraculously short walk ("See, only nine minutes, Harry!") they arrived back at the rotunda with the floo. As they approached the reception desk to return the Quéntral and check out the books, Harry looked at the ornate iron clock that he had just noticed was hanging from the ceiling directly above the counter.

"Hermione, it's already 2:15!" His fear of being caught by McGonagall increased tenfold and he imagined her assigning a teacher to keep watch over him while he slept.

"I know, I know…" Hermione quickly turned to the receptionist. "Voici le Quéntral, madame. C'a été très utile." She plunked the small black box on the table, where the receptionist reached out a wrinkled hand and whisked it away to some place beneath the desk.

"Nous avons besoin de retirer des livres."

Harry assumed Hermione had just stated their need to check out the books and wasn't surprised when the women looked shocked and said in a trembling voice, "Mademoiselle, des livres ne peuvent pas retirer! Ce sont anciens! Mais… c'est aussi le garçon-qu'a-vécu…" She trailed off and nervously looked around as if a superior would denounce her. When one didn't appear she gained strength and pulled out a pad of Muggle legal paper. "Parce qu'il est le garçon-qu'a-vécu," she shot a quick glance at Harry, "vous pouvez les retirer."

Hermione beamed at her and then turned to Harry. "She says because you're, well, _you_, we can check them out. See? I told you this would be easy."

Hermione pulled out a long piece of parchment; evidently, she had written down all the names of the books that they were going to take on it. She handed it to the lady, who tucked it under the desk, presumably by the Quéntral.

They talked for a few minutes as Harry leaned against a pillar (a cool and nice one, no dust by it) and anxiously checked the iron clock every few seconds. 2:19, 2:20, 2:22. He had forgotten about his forehead as he drifted into a daydream at 2:23, but yelled and clapped a hand to it later the same minute. The yell echoed around the space as Hermione whirled around, her face immediately worried.

"Your scar?" she asked quickly, and when Harry nodded, said to the horrified receptionist, "c'est sa cicatrice." The woman's expression suddenly became knowledgeable and a bit motherly.

"Ah, sa cicatrice. Sera-t-il meilleur? Doit-il un médimagicienne? Il y a un très bon médecin, Mmg. Dalbot, dans l'Hôtel-Dieu—"

Hermione cut her off tactfully. "Non, merci. Il doit aller au Hogwarts maintenant. Au revoir et bonsoir."

Through a sea of red Harry felt Hermione grabbing his arm. "C'mon, Harry. We'll be back at Hogwarts in fifteen minutes if we hurry!" A warm liquid ran down his forehead, onto Hermione's arm, and into her bag filled with books; she ignored it and threw in some floo powder. As the flames roared up, emerald monsters dancing in the fireplace, Harry thought his scar would tear itself from his forehead from the pain. A merciful moment later he drifted into blackness, as black as the endless tall ceilings of the library, charcoal like the ashes that were swirling, swirling up towards heaven.

--------------

Blurry vision.

Harry hated waking up without his glasses, not that he didn't do it everyday. It was terrible with bad vision trying to make out what was happening in those seconds between the opening of his eyes and the fumbling around on the nightstand, trying to find what he did with the things. He had even thought about getting some Muggle contacts but shrugged off the idea after thinking it would be kind of strange to actually put something in your eye. Hermione had never mentioned a magical vision remedy, so…

A blur of black leaned over his bed and Hermione spoke. "Harry, oh, Harry!"

As he lifted himself up onto his forearms on the white and scratchy hospital sheets he wondered when he was going to be able to see properly again. He cleared his throat and said, "Glasses, Hermione, please?"

"Oh." There was a pause in which Harry presumed she was getting them, and then her hands descended over his face and he could see again. "Thanks."

"We got in so much trouble, Harry, I thought you had the cloak—oh!"

Something silvery dangled over his head, held by a wrinkled and age-spotted hand. Harry's eyes followed the hand to the cloaked arm to the face, the face of the person he wanted to see the least right now.

"I believe this is yours, is it not, Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall's tones were as unbending as steel. "How could you leave the grounds and put your safety—and Ms. Granger's—at risk? And letting yourself be seen at the London Floo, you were lucky nobody was there!"

Harry squirmed guiltily on the pillow.

"So. I think you know what you should and shouldn't do. I've already given Miss Granger a two month detention—" Harry took in a deep breath of air in amazement. Hermione getting detention, two months worth? Then came the guilt: _it was because of me that it happened. She went because of me_.

"And you, Mr. Potter." McGonagall looked steadily into his eyes. "What you did was incredibly foolish. I do not know why you chose not to confide in the professors; perhaps you thought we would restrict your studying and movements?"

Harry looked away at the only other occupied bed to escape her piercing gaze. The covers rose and fell almost imperceptibly as the person slept.

"Do you know what happened while you were gone?"

Harry shook his head and bit his lip.

"Hogsmeade was attacked. The wards broken. Do you know, Harry, what the death count was, the number of women, now either widows or dead, raped? And you, off in a Parisian café—"

Harry shot a look at Hermione, who nodded a little bit and stared at him, as if to tell him to go along with what was apparently her plan.

"Sorry, Professor."

"I should hope so. Two months detention with Miss Granger after your private study ends at night or before breakfast, four hours each day. Your studying access in the library will be restricted to the regular section. You will also be suspended from the next three Quidditch games. Good day, Mr. Potter. If Madam Pomfrey finds you are well, your detention starts tomorrow with Professor Slughorn." She turned from him and walked out of the Hospital Wing, her robes whipping behind her.

Hermione leaned in again to whisper. "Sorry I couldn't warn you about the café story. She thinks that I took you there to talk about Ron and Voldemort and stuff. Not that we couldn't have done that in the Common Room, but…"

Harry hugged her around the neck and she squeaked in surprise. "I'm the one who should be saying 'sorry', and you know it."

Hermione pulled away and gave a sad little smile, which Harry felt was out of place.

"Perhaps."

She paused, thinking of what to say. Her teeth nibbled her lower lip.

"But it's about your life."

Fin


End file.
